


The Kitchen Sink

by billtheradish



Series: I.N.K. [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:45:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billtheradish/pseuds/billtheradish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is (or will be) a collection of works to expand on the story Indelible Marks, and any other large works in the same universe. Be aware of potential spoilers for the larger works. They'll be noted in the chapter title when present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hale Family - Spoilers Redacted

If you think about it much, you can probably spot one of the spoilers I've removed. And it's not a huge deal if you do, but be aware of it if you're trying to avoid spoilers.

Ages among siblings are highest on the left and lowest on the right. The blue/pink color scheme was **not** something I had control over, with the website I was using.


	2. Hale Family - SPOILERS

...yeah, they're not much in the way of spoilers. But there are points where some of the information here would change things.

As on the non-spoilery version of the tree, ages among siblings are highest on the left and lowest on the right. The blue/pink color scheme was **not** something I had control over, with the website I was using.


	3. The Gardener and Ms. Torres

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominique Torres, meet Paul Hale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that in this chapter, the appearance of a person of color is considered and mentioned _in the mind_ of a character who, while white and male, is also a werewolf. Evaluate that as you will and be aware of that element, but please also be considerate of the fact that these are fairly shallow thoughts on making a first impression.

"You need Hale."

Dominique stopped (very carefully) pulling at her hair and readjusted the phone against her ear. "What's a Hale?"

Harvey laughed like she'd told a knee-slapper of a joke. Maybe she had. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. _Fuck_ she hated city-towns. "You need Hale. In this case, the Hale Nursery and Landscaping. I'll get you his number."

There was a rustling over the phone as Harvey pushed through the material on his desk. If she were any less professional or grateful, she wouldn't have been able to work with him.

But he'd given her the job she wanted, when not many people would have. Maybe not the place she wanted, but it was growing on her and the job was perfect. Two to three years to establish herself, Harvey would retire, and she'd buy him out. It was flawless.

If only she didn't have to deal with this damnable house, and its damnable yard, and its absolutely appalling collection of dead...everything.

Ugh.

"Alright! Found it," Harvey practically beamed through the receiver. "Hopefully he's in the office today."

Dominique stamped her foot, not caring that Harvey couldn't see it anyway. "This guy isn't sounding very reliable," she tried to squeeze out politely and without clenching her teeth. "And wouldn't it be better to try somewhere that has more staff, since from how you're talking, I'm thinking that this is a one man show?"

He gave her the number for Hale and hung up on her, still laughing.

\-----

He hated phones.

Paul growled and pulled his head out from under the pillow anyway. He grabbed his cell and didn't bother checking to see who it was. The chances he knew who it was were fairly nonexistent anyway. "Hale."

"Hello Mr. Hale, this is Dominique Torres." 

It was a nice voice; smooth and sharp with just a hint of an accent, even if it was fake smiling.

He didn't need to see Dominique to tell that.

"I have a landscaping emergency. I work for H.G. Estates, and I need a horrifying yard turned into something halfway palatable by this weekend." There was a brief pause and a shifting of fabric, like she was shrugging. "And Harvey seems to think you're the gardening Messiah."

Paul grunted and rolled to his side then up and out of bed. "Yard or bed?"

"It sounds like bed's the answer for both of our questions," Dominique sniped before giving a frustrated little growl.

It was kind of adorable. "Is there a problem with the grass."

She sighed and it sounded like she was turning. It sounded like she was tired. "The grass _is_ a problem, more like. But I'm not expecting miracles. There's just a lot of dead or just plain ugly foliage that needs to go, and it would be amazing to have _something_ other than bare dirt, but the dirt would honestly..."

"How large are the beds?" he cut her off, and didn't smile at all when that earned another little growl.

"Roughly five by ten along the front of the house," Dominique rattled off without hesitation. "Two side beds, both about one by eight, and an island that's about five foot in diameter. There's a strip along the front fence too, but in comparison to the rest, the weeds there are almost decorative."

Paul snorted in amusement and grabbed his jeans from the previous day. Well, half of the previous day anyway. They were great for gardening, but he hated running in jeans. "Budget?"

"No, seriously, I think I'm getting you out of bed and you kind of sound pissed about it. I can find someone else."

"Budget?" he asks again, once it sounds like she's done.

Dominique snorted, but she sounded amused. "Uh. _Way_ less than anything but maybe clearing out the worst of the damage. If the house sells soon, I can earmark part of those funds as being owed to you, but..."

It wasn't surprising. Harvey was a bit of a disaster at the best of times. A very friendly disaster, but.

All the same. He didn't know anything about Ms. Torres, and she sounded like she deserved a hand.

"Text me the address. I'll be there in a couple of hours."

\-----

One of the last things Dominique expected to see an hour and a half later was a dusty red pickup truck crammed with a swaying tide of blue.

Mostly blue. Bits of purple, orange, and white stood out. But mostly? _Flowers_. The idiot had actually brought flowers.

They'd look brilliant against the faded red of the house, too. Goddamn-it. 

Dominique knew she should probably be grinning. That's what Hale probably expected; smiles, gratitude, a flutter of eyelashes, maybe a phone number.

Before he saw her, anyway. It was a 70/30 chance he'd be expecting that anyway, even if he stopped being interested.

He wasn't going to get it.

Hale was barely out of the truck before she was up in his space, as scowling and hostile as she could be from at least an eight inch height deficit. Whatever. She'd dealt with worse. "What. The fuck. Is that?"

And alright, fine. Flowers were something she hadn't been expecting, sure. But she also defnitely hadn't been expecting fucking _Superman_ as her landscaping savior. A stubbly, sleepy looking, brown haired Superman. 

Christ. His chest was even about as responsive as tire rubber when she poked it.

\-----

Paul blinked down at the tiny angry woman. She was delightful, even if she was wearing enough perfume to make his eyes water. Kind of reminded him of his sister, only tiny and brown and with a lot more hair.

It wasn't the first time that Paul wished caffeine had anywhere near the same effect on werewolves that it had on humans.

He blinked again, but she was still scowling expectantly up at him. She was wearing _heels_ and she barely came above his chin. Tiny and fierce and adorable.

And poking him. Probably since he hadn't answered her question.

"Flowers," he grunted, backing off and moving to the side, away from almost-certainly-Ms. Torres and toward the back of the truck.

"I'm not that much of a moron, thanks." She followed along after him, her accent coming out a bit more as her annoyance grew. Spanish, he thought, but she was a bit darker than he was used to, for Mexican. "You're Hale? You sound like you're still asleep, which might be why you didn't hear me heavily suggest that there's _practically no budget for this_."

Definitely Ms. Torres.

Paul grabbed a pot of marigolds, turned around and held it out for her. Her nails were neat, her suit was pressed and colorful, but she took the pot with a bewildered blink anyway.

And hey. _Quiet_.

He smiled at her and went to work unloading the plants. They could talk about costs later, after the kids showed up. And they could talk about presents, and plants he probably wouldn't sell anyway, and maybe, possibly, he could get her to growl again.

That would be nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my frustrations with Indelible Marks is working in physical descriptions when Derek already knows what everyone looks like so well that he...doesn't really think about it much, anymore. So here, have a slightly less biased view as to what Dominique and Paul look like.


	4. Speed-Mating (Peter and Tania)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tania's first 'date'.

Normally, bars weren't quite as bad as schools. The emotional press was more consistent: people leaking lust, anger, and sadness all over everything in their own special ways. For most, their hormones had calmed down by the time they were legal to drink. They'd grown out of teenage havoc.

This bar smelled _just like high school_.

Peter sighed and rubbed the tip of his nose, taking in the non-scent of himself as he adjusted. It wasn't even that crowded, really. They were just worked up and leaking their feelings everywhere.

Hormone soup. He hadn't missed it.

But it was just a couple of hours, assuming the event was _very_ poorly organized. Two hours and he'd be a huge leap ahead with his plans, and might even get some phone numbers as a bonus.

He'd survived _years_ of this in high school. He could survive two hours of olfactory flashback.

A trio of women were approaching the door, so he stepped in to make room. He might as well check in. His nose had already been assaulted and he'd paid when he signed up. Aside from the minor indignity of the speed dating itself, he'd already been through the worst.

In general, he tried not to think like that. It was just _asking_ someone to throw up on his shoes.

Navigating through the room was both easier and harder than it normally would have been. There was a huge open area in the middle that didn't normally exist, eliminating the need to dodge around tables. Instead, it was full of people. Obnoxiously odiferous people, getting their feelings all over everything.

It was a relief to reach the table by the bar with the cheerful yellow 'Welcome' sign, even if it did put him in range of the man behind it and his alarmingly wide smile and eyes. He looked like he was either on something or mentally unstable, and Peter wasn't sure which option was more alarming.

There was a woman already there, but she'd finished her scrawl and straightened up while Peter was assessing the probability the host was going to go mad and kill them all. She was already stepping forward, ready to bowl right over him, by the time they really registered each other. She was his height, her eyes round with surprise and shifting her weight back with an automatic economy of movement that suggested regular use.

"Whoops! Sorry about that," she said, flowing off to the side before he had a chance to decide if he wanted to take advantage of the situation to catch her. "You okay?"

"Yeah." 

She moved on, leaving behind a sweet scent and a load of confusion.

"Are you one of our participants?" the man behind the table chirped, drawing Peter's attention back.

"Yes," he said, and tried to focus on what he was being handed rather than the woman ordering ice water, of all things, at the bar.

\-----

This was not Tania's idea of a pleasant evening. She would much, much rather be home with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and _The Godfather_.

Instead, she was listening as 'Rodrigo' (and seriously, they had the option to use aliases but if this kid wasn't of Scandinavian descent, she'd eat a catheter) explained the video game he was working on. Thankfully, she could smile-and-nod with the best of them, because most of the time she had no idea if he was talking about coding or game play.

Still. She supposed it was good that he liked his job.

Their time ended before he did. Rodrigo just raised his voice and talked over the music to finish making a point, so their goodbyes were rather abrupt as he shot up and toward the next seat as the bell rang.

Tania sighed as her next 'date' lowered himself into the seat. "Gods no. Hi, Timmy."

Timothy grimaced and gave her a sheepish wave. "Uh..."

"Yeah. Just... How's your mom? Are her stitches healing up alright?"

She wasn't going to date Timmy. She'd been his babysitter.

 _When he'd barely been potty trained_.

Just. _No_.

\-----

This was not going at all to plan.

"My perfect date?" Charlotte (whose name was actually Sarah. He knew because they'd had English together for two years) played at thinking about it, biting her lip and tilting her head back.

It was attractive, in general, but it was also very, very fake. 

"I guess..."

There was a soft laugh behind him, and "No, really. It's okay. Go ahead and tell me about your yoga instructor."

That was baffling. It sounded like the woman who'd nearly run into him, and...her date was gushing about--hunh. Her bisexual date was gushing about a guy he'd met the day before. And she was encouraging it.

"I'm not sure, but I don't think I'd want to make a big deal out of it," Charlotte-Sarah said, pulling Peter's attention back. "I mean, it's about the time spent together, right? You don't need anything fancy or exciting to get that."

She was lying, of course.

Just like his last two 'dates' had lied, giving answers they thought would be alluring rather than being honest. He should have expected that.

He doubted the laughing woman would lie to him, when he got there.

\-----

How. The _fuck_. Had she let herself be talked into this?

Tania tried to smile as the volume on the music lifted again (and seriously, if she _never again in her **life**_ had to listen to _The Final Countdown_ , she would count it as a blessing), but she only managed it when Rick's expression went slack as he processed what the music meant. Probably because he'd only just realized he was _still answering her first question_.

The bell rang, finally, and Rick scrambled out of his seat with a flustered goodbye. He didn't use her name. She doubted he remembered it.

She was going to _slaughter_ Melissa for talking her into this. 'It sounds like fun!' she'd said. 'It's a low stress way to meet people,' she'd said. 'I can't go, I'm married to an asshole and need to have fun vicariously through you until I get my head on straight and kick him out so hard his parents see stars,' she'd said.

Well, not really. But Tania lived in hope.

The next man slid into the chair across from her and Tania tried to smile. She really did try. She was just tired, and cranky, and well past done.

He offered her a quick grin and his hand, and shaking hands was something she could do. He was young, like most of the men at this event. Younger than her, at least. Definitely younger in spirit, judging by his eyes and the ease of his smile. He looked vaguely familiar, but honestly nearly everyone looked vaguely familiar. Beacon Hills wasn't that small, but it wasn't big enough to effectively avoid everyone either.

She had to give him props for his outfit though. Nice slacks and a purple button up, no tie. Most of the guys so far had gone for the full suit and looked like they were at a job interview, not a date. The remainder seemed to think that a clean shirt was effort enough.

"Peter Hale," her date offered, and wasn't that _fascinating_. One of Maria's brothers. Definitely younger, but not as much as she'd thought. "Nice to meet you."

\-----

This was the only table he'd been looking forward to, all evening. Female Participant Number 14 wasn't actually that much to look at, honestly. Dishwater blonde hair, pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. Pale blue sweater, tired, fake smile and dark eyes with bruised-looking smudges beneath them. A bit older than the rest of the crowd, and either resigned to it or just that tired.

"Tania Sitwell. Good to meet you too," 14 offered, with a smile that looked as weary as the rest of her smelled. "Met anyone interesting so far?"

"None as interesting as you."

Tania straightened up in her seat, focus sharpening past whatever muddled pressure had settled in her mind, and Peter felt his smile stretching. Not for the first time, he was glad he'd grown up without the obnoxious moral objection most humans had about eavesdropping. And not only because it meant he hadn't been entirely sideswiped by the pleasant burr of her voice.

"Tell me," he said, not waiting for her to recover, "why is it you want to open up a so-called 'date' with a blatant invitation for your partner to talk about someone else?"

And that, there at the very edge of her lips. _That_ was a real expression. A cold twist of amusement that felt more like a weapon than an invitation. "I don't really want to be here. And if someone takes me up on it, they probably don't want me to be here either."

Peter leaned across their table, let himself breath in so he could catch more of her scent without looking too odd. 

Sweet. Tania was...sweet. Just sweet. Still musky, like any human or werewolf, but sweeter than anyone else he'd ever met. It wasn't perfume, either. He recognized her shampoo, the traces of soap that lingered behind her ears. He walked past the stall that sold them every week at the farmer's market. The soap on her hands was harsher, matched the antiseptic and medicinal scents that clung to her skin. 

"Well apparently, I want you to be here." He let his smile answer the one growing across her face. "Why don't you want to be here, Tania?"

\-----

He actually remembered her name. They weren't even a minute in, but she was still impressed.

"I don't have the time or energy for relationships," she told him. It wasn't exactly a secret, and it wasn't like she was expecting a _speed dating event_ of all things to change her mind about that. "A...friend of mine. She disagrees. Thinks I need to 'get out more' or something." And Tania refused to feel weird for using air quotes. She wasn't going to try and act like someone she wasn't in order to get dates she wasn't interested in going on anyway.

Peter was nodding like he understood, though. "Want to hear a secret?" he offered, leaning in even further with a smirk. "I'm not looking for a relationship either," he whispered.

She'd leaned in toward him before she'd realized it, whispering back, "So why are _you_ here?"

"I want to open a restaurant," he confided. "A nice one. Less family, more sophisticated but casual." He shrugged, easing back in his seat a bit. "This seemed like a fantastic opportunity to ask a wide variety of people what their ideal date environment would be like."

She laughed. 

It wasn't a quiet, polite laugh. It practically _echoed_.

Tania tried to cover her mouth with a hand, but the damage had already been done. She could feel the flush in her cheeks and she closed her eyes against the knowledge that people would be turning to stare at her. But. Just.

The first guy all night to actually seem interesting (and maybe even, slightly, interest _ed_?), and he was there doing _market research_.

Her _life_.

\-----

He was entranced.

Peter leaned his weight against his elbows, cheeks starting to ache from smiling. He didn't care.

 _Everyone_ was looking as Tania brought her hands up to try and hold the noise in, and he hoped that all the men who'd let her distract them were regretting it, now. Because her laughter was bright and honest and so much younger than she looked. 

"I'm sorry," she gasped around her hand once she'd gotten her amusement under control. She was still flushed and her eyes were bright and if he'd thought she smelled sweet _before_. "I don't think I'll be of much use to you, though."

"I can't imagine that's true."

Tania quirked an eyebrow at him mockingly. "My ideal date? Is a pint of sorbet, two spoons, flannel pajamas, a couch, and a horrible movie. Trust me. I am of no use to you."

He shrugged, wobbling a hand in the space between them. "So the dress policy needs to be very lax. I'd have to make a requirement about some form of cute slippers for pajamas, obviously, but I'm sure I could make that work. Comfortable booths and sorbet on the menu. The movie would be a little harder."

It was worth the inanity to see her laugh again.

\-----

He was trying to kill her, Tania was sure of it. Her _lungs_ hurt. "Oh gods, stop it. Ow."

He pouted insincerely at her. "No. I like it when you laugh."

Tania shook her head, breathing carefully as she took control of her diaphragm. Again. "You are a very strange man."

He gave her a real grin for that. A full grin, with his lips stretched wide and his teeth flashing in the false dark. "You have no idea."

The music swelled, audible over any conversation, and...

She was sad. 

For the first time in this entire farce of a dating program, she was _sad_. Because Peter was going to move on instead of continuing to make her laugh. And she had no idea how he'd feel about crashing on the couch with a horrible movie and something sweet at the end of a long and horrible day.

Peter stood as the bell rang, offering her a sad little smile. "Some other time, Tania."

He held his hand out again but when she took it, he turned their hands before she could shake and brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

She was still blushing when the next man sat down and kind of stared blankly at the guy for a second (or...more) before remembering that they were supposed to talk now.

But first things first. She flipped her card over and marked 'yes' next to Peter's number. 

He might not do the same, but if he didn't she could at least tell herself that he was just there on business. Or hated her description of a date, in which case he was obviously not human anyway.

It didn't have to be her fault, if he didn't choose her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written up for Verity, as a bribe to do something she abruptly forgot I'd offered a bribe for. ;P But she got it done anyway, so.


	5. Too Human, Too Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria watched him in the halls, in the classes they had together. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't staring. She doubted anybody else even knew she'd noticed him.
> 
> Aside from him. _He_ knew.

From a human perspective, the new kid wasn't doing a very good job of blending in.

He wasn't doing a very good job even in the things he couldn't really control because, really, he _looked_ like a stereotype. His hair was black with a loose curl tht would look a little shaggy at almost any length. His nose was...weird. Too smooth and straight, at the bridge. Just different enough to look a little foreign. And his skin was a dusky tan, even though he'd shown up in the middle of winter.

Supposedly, transferred from _Minnesota_.

Hunters supposedly knew better, but humans could be really stupid about that sort of thing.

Looking a little foreign was nothing, though. It was everything _else_ that caught her attention.

Maria watched him in the halls, in the classes they had together. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't staring. She doubted anybody else even knew she'd noticed him.

Aside from him. _He_ knew.

When she picked out where he was sitting at lunch, he looked back. Sometimes, he smiled.

He smiled like a wolf. His mouth moved, sure. It curved and stretched, and it made a smile. It was his eyes, though, that said when he meant it, that changed to say it was mischievous, or surprised, or vicious. 

(She liked all of them, but she wanted to smile back at the vicious ones. Wanted to run with him in the woods until they were panting. See if his smile was the same when they found prey.)

The thing was, though, that he moved like a wolf. His walk was a slink, his run was a lope. He never seemed to be in a hurry, no matter how fast he was moving. He caged his food in while he ate; never left it unattended. He moved his eyes more than his head. When his head moved, his whole body adjusted. Preparing to move, to strike, to run.

From a human perspective, he was _horrible_ at hiding. A hunter would pick him out as someone to watch in minutes. They wouldn't even have to be looking.

From a wolf perspective, he was stupidly, frustratingly good.

He moved like a wolf, smiled like a wolf, noticed like a wolf. He laughed at things, if quietly, too bloody for most humans to see the humor in. He didn't _smell_ like a wolf, though. Didn't even smell like he lived with wolves. 

He _bruised_. She'd seen a mark on his arm. Could still smell it the next two days.

There was no threat, though. No scent of wolfsbane or guns. She'd told her mother about him, but checking on his family hadn't turned anything up either. His parents had _office jobs_.

Too wolf to be human. Too human to be wolf. 

Frustrating. Annoying. Irritating. Intriguing.

Also, cute. Maybe even hot, on a good day.

She was a werewolf, not _blind_ , okay?

She also wasn't deaf. There wasn't anything wrong with her sense of smell, either. When he followed her outside for lunch, once the weather finally started approaching warm enough that it wouldn't be too suspicious, Maria walked further than normal. She bypassed the little hill she favored, and the picnic tables.

He hesitated at the tables, but followed when she turned to smile (mischievous, challenging) back at him. They sat on the bleachers, at the edge of the soccer field, and she offered him one of her cookies. "I'm Maria Hale. Do you have a pack?"

The question made him startle, his eyes spreading wide on a huff of a laugh. He took her cookie, though. Then proved that his lunch was _vastly superior_ to hers anyway by giving her a fortune cookie in exchange.

"David Bey," he returned, and--that was disappointing. She'd never heard of a Bey pack. He'd probably think she was-- "And I don't smoke."

Yeah. That.

Maria huffed, disappointed for a moment before she saw the mirth hiding at the edges of his eyes.

"My grandmother had some really interesting stories about wolves, though?"

\-----

David was human. He was slow like a human, weak like a human, blind and deaf and dull like a human.

But if she waited, if she held back and kept herself to a pace he could match, David _ran_ like a wolf.

And within a month, he smelled like hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy April first, there is no April Fool's here.


	6. not the only gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bite isn't the only gift a pack can give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this story are not in chronological order.

Boyd  
\-----

The twitchy kid left, and Paul checked his list again. Henry. He drew a line through the name and a misshapen star next to it. Hiring a kid who smoked that much weed was, unfortunately, just asking for trouble.

Less because of the nursery, more because Paul wouldn’t be able to smell _anything else_.

Still. Better a twitchy pothead than kids who were assholes because being an asshole was fun. He'd already eliminated three applicants for that. Maybe Henry would make it after all.

God, he hated interviews. Especially when they made his office reek (which was always).

Paul glared down at the list the guidance counselor had sent him. It was better than he'd been getting the last five years so there was a chance this counselor was trainable, unlike her predecessor, but it still barely told him anything like what he needed to know.

If it did, he'd do a probationary hire from the _list_ , when they had more students than the nursery budget could handle (which was always). 

It wasn't like he didn't know he was getting troubled kids. They weren't eligible for the program unless they were listed somewhere as a 'troubled youth'. Most of them had been arrested. 

Paul was fine with that. They were usually a mix of good workers and absolute hell, but it worked out. He just wanted to make sure he had more than his fair share of troublemakers and fighters, and was working with kids he could actually help. 

Assholes who just seemed to enjoy being assholes didn't fall into that category, and he hadn't met a list item yet that let him identify those.

Paul sighed and stood up to open the door and wave the next applicant in. There were four of them out there, and how they decided on their order was the first test. (It wasn't a difficult test, but fantastic for identifying potential problems.)

There was only a little shuffling and no words before the next kid came in. Tall. Black. Already had a presence Paul liked, though the attitude could use some work. He settled in the chair across from Paul and stared back, and the tilt to his chin was almost creepily similar to Niq's, when she was daring him to say something.

Interesting.

Paul tapped his pen against the list. "Name?"

"Boyd."

There was a Vernon Boyd on the list. Paul hoped he actually liked to go by his last name and wasn't just being an ass, because he was stuck with it now. "Alright. So talk."

Boyd's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't seem offended. (It was hard to tell. The air still reeked of Henry's little habit.) "I need a job. I thought I'd give the program a try, since I qualify for it and you have to take some of us if you signed up for it." (Paul held back a smirk. He didn't 'sign up' for the program, he was a founding member. In Beacon Hills, anyway.) "I don't know if I actually want to come all the way out here every day to get covered in dirt for minimum wage, but my other options are mostly nothing."

"Why nothing?"

The look Boyd gave him was poetry. Judgment and amusement and skepticism in half a second of facial tic. "Technically, I wasn't charged with anything so my record is clean," Boyd started with a shrug that was anything but casual. "But I beat a guy up, and it's pretty common knowledge. Nobody wants--"

"Why?" Paul interrupted, then grinned when Boyd just blinked back at him. "Why'd you beat him up?"

"He'd been pushing my sisters around."

Paul nodded and looked down at his list, checking off Boyd's name and scratching out the Vernon. "Like rabbits?"

"What?"

Paul thought he'd do well with the rabbits. Something small and adorable that needed him, even though they were scared of him.

\-----  
Isaac  
\-----  
Peter was ready to award this guy the 'most obnoxious drifter of the year' award, and it wasn't even March yet.

In the distance, he could hear the omega's pained yelps between Laura and Maria's snarls. He wasn't really paying attention, but it sounded like the poor guy had _really_ warped expectations of the Hale Alpha.

Sometimes, he thought a lot of their troubles could be solved by sending out pamphlets, explaining that forcing a treaty with the Argents was the work of an unstoppable force, not a peace-loving _pushover_.

"Uh...Peter?" He barely heard Danielle over another screech and the crunch of breaking bone, but the nervous edge creeping into her scent was hard to miss. "The guy down the hole? He's awake."

Wasn't that delightful. Peter sighed and crouched down, skulking closer to Danielle and the overturned backhoe. And so he was. Closer to the machine, Peter could hear the heartbeat thrumming in the depression under it.

Even better: he could smell the high school. (And Danielle's nervousness, layered with concern and stubborn determination.) "I'll take care of him. Go to the others," Peter tilted his head back toward the fading whimpers. Danielle didn't move, but she dodged his lazy swat and growled softly. "Duckling, I'm guessing he might _recognize_ you, and if we're pulling him out he's already going to have to cope with werewolves. Let's take mercy on the poor boy, hmm?"

"Not exactly the theme of the evening," Danielle muttered, amusement spiking in her scent and around her eyes as she sank back into the dark to join her mother.

Terrorizing the wildlife, avoiding the patrolling guards, robbing a cemetery for _organs_ and putting a human probably-technically-child at risk. Then asking for protection? Because he'd heard the Hale Alpha was understanding and kind? "Your mother has been _very_ sympathetic and merciful, Duck," he muttered after her. "Considering the circumstances."

He waited until her laughter was softer than a human could hear, then circled the backhoe and braced his weight under the lighter end. It wasn't easy. He wasn't an alpha. The weight of the base took over once he got it started though, letting him finish standing straight and leaning in to catch sight of his prize.

The kid reminded him of a rabbit; big eyes, frantic heart rate, and hair that just invited petting. Peter offered him a human smile. "Need a hand?"

\-----

His name was Isaac, and Isaac was unfortunately bright. Or at least, unfortunately observant.

"You're one of the Hales, right?" Peter raised an eyebrow at him, but Isaac just hunched a bit further down behind his clenched hands. "I heard Danielle, earlier. And I remember-- I mean."

That made the kid look away, something bad twisting through his scent. (Not that it was easy to pick out anything, around the high school, the fear, the pain.) But with his job, with his father...

It was sad, how many options there were that Isaac might remember, for family deaths. But... Well. Not many of those had ended in funerals. "You remember when Reggie died."

Isaac nodded, but didn't look up from his fists. Cars were approaching, but they were far enough out that he didn't need to go, yet. 

"I'm Peter," he offered, when it became obvious Isaac wasn't going to speak up again. "I'll come back tomorrow. We'll talk more then." Isaac looked confused, so Peter smiled again. Smiles were reassuring, right? "I want to make sure you're really okay," he admitted in an exaggerated whisper.

If he made it enough of a joke, the kid might not catch that he meant it. Besides, there was still the matter of werewolves and all the questions Isaac carefully _wasn't_ asking. 

There was no hiding the supernatural. Not when there was a corpse with a liver missing, and Isaac had watched him lift a piece of heavy machinery unassisted. (From the cues Isaac was putting off, Peter was hilariously convinced the kid thought he was a monster _hunter_ , not a monster himself. He wasn't planning on correcting that assumption, honestly. Not yet, anyway.)

Those weren't the only concerns, though. Not hardly.

Not when the kid's heart rate spiked like that, when he finally heard the approaching vehicles. When the sight of police cars and a beat up old sedan made him smell of fear almost as much as being stuck down an incomplete grave.

\-----  
Erica  
\-----

"I need a reminder."

Tania lifted her book, tilting her head back to keep reading while Maria fell onto the couch, her legs arranging themselves over Tania's lap. What little of it was left, anyway. "What do you need reminding of, oh Alpha?"

The way Maria sank her shoulders down into the couch and drew her chin in had Tania snapping her book closed and giving Maria her full attention. "Oh my god, what did you do."

"I didn't do anything!" Maria protested, but she was still sulking and reeking of guilt. "Uh. Yet." She straightened up a bit with a grimace, but looked Tania in the eye. "Remind me I can't bite peoples' problems away. And that other peoples' problems are their own, and if they're not in my pack then I'm not the alpha and I can't just try to make it better without asking."

Oh lordy. "Even if you _are_ the alpha, you should ask before you try to make it better," Tania reminded in the same stern-authority tone she'd cultivated for dealing with stubborn patients. She wasn't surprised when Maria made a face at her in response. "I mean it. You know you can just make things worse. So what happened?"

"There was a girl, when I was grocery shopping. About Danielle's age, I think." Maria sighed, but when she curled in on herself it seemed more like resignation and regret than guilt. "She smelled _awful_ , Tahn. She's on enough drugs that I can smell the horrible things they're doing to her. And she practically hid behind the woman with her when she heard a group of kids her age passing the end of the aisle. It was almost reflex. _That's_ how sick she is!" Maria sat up abruptly, glaring at Tania like it was her fault Maria was acting mildly unhinged. "I couldn't even tell if the woman with her was her mother or not! How messed up is that?"

Tania just stared until Maria sighed and rolled her eyes. "For me, that's very messed up, Tania."

"Oh, I know," Tania agreed with a short nod. "But my brain's still human, and just. Wow, Maria. Wow."

"Oh shut up," Maria huffed, curling up into her corner again. "So. I can't bite her. I know that. And her parents would probably object to me biting a fifteen-ish-old anyway. "

"You don't even know if the bite would help," Tania felt obliged to point out. "The bite doesn't fix things like PTSD or depression. We know that. We know it might not help Cara. You _know_ it doesn't fix everything."

"It didn't smell like that. More like you, from before." Maria pressed a foot against Tania's arm and... she'd been rubbing her wrists again.

They didn't hurt anymore. It was just habit.

"That's still not a diagnosis," Tania said. "If it bothers you enough, we can go out and see if we can't find her again. If she's that sick, I might know her from the hospital." Or be able to recognize the drugs she was on by smell, but that was still too weird to Tania to mention out loud. "I'm not going to let you bite her, but there might be other options. You can talk to that vet of yours. David's still visiting that pack in Nevada. They have an alliance with a family of--mystics, or whatever you call them, don't they? Maybe we can work something out that way."

"Worth a shot," Maria shrugged, and curled herself to her feet in utter, unfair grace before offering a hand to Tania. "Let's go. If they aren't still shopping, I should be able to pick up the scent trail for a little while."

"Ugh. I hate you."

\-----

It was the Reyes girl. Tania bit her tongue against taking her earlier words back. If there was ever a girl who could benefit from a genetic makeover and a ready-made support network...

But Tania wasn't allowed to make those decisions any more than Maria was.

"Call your vet."

If magic couldn't help, they'd talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. The bit with Isaac is in fact intended to be essentially the same as happened in season 2. If anyone actually wants to hear my reasoning re: timing, I'll write it out. However, I want it noted that my commentary about the treaty with the Argents not meaning that the Hale alpha was a peace loving pushover? That was actually written before season three began. So any parallels were unintentional.
> 
> I'm really sorry I haven't got another chapter of IM for you. Next week, schedule should resume as normal. (If nothing else, I won't have internet for a few days because my provider messed up. Lots of time for writing if I'm cut off from reading!)


	7. The BEST Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura has the best ideas. Trust her on this.
> 
> \-----
> 
> Halloween special. This is set a few days ahead of the current (as of the posting date) storyline in Indelible Marks, so this entire chapter can be considered a spoiler for the Halloween section of the story. However? Fairly low risk, and I'm (obviously) going to miss the holiday otherwise. SO.

Laura doesn't need validation. She _knows_ she has some of the best ideas.

So when she sees the top at the thrift shop, it isn't really a decision. It's more of a _realization_.

She shakes the top out and eyes it critically. She'll have to shorten the sleeves (well, have Grandma or Paul shorten the sleeves) and probably mess with the neckline, but...

Yeah. It's good.

"I think I'm gonna make my brother do Halloween half naked," she says, when Robbie steps in to see what she's eyeing.

"Honey, I support you utterly, but that ain't gonna fit him."

It really, really wouldn't. But that's not the point.

\-----

Laura decided to lead with the good news. "I found a Halloween costume for you!"

Then, while Derek was still lifting his head from whatever he was working on, she threw the shorts at his face.

Never say she was anything but a loving and devoted sister.

(In her defense, it was better than even odds that he'd catch them before they hit. And he did! So it wasn't even that bad, really.)

"What the hell, Laura?" Derek sighed, lifting the shorts by the end of one leg and eying them like they were going to eat him or something. "One, I don't need a costume, I'm just helping walk the kids." ("They aren't puppies!" Tania objected from upstairs. Laura still had hope that she'd eventually come to appreciate the awesomeness of a subtle dog joke.) 

"Two, I _already have a costume_ ," Derek continued, completely missing her mental detour. Rude.

Laura stood firm. Shook her head and shook her new shirt in his general direction. "This is so much better!"

He was catching on now, though. She could tell. His scent was doing that weird, spongey-wheaty-dusty thing that tended to happen when he was drawing or figuring something out.

"...they're the wrong colors. It's supposed to be blue and yellow, not blue and white."

_Rude_. "It's Halloween, Derek. Not cosplay."

His scent sharpened, trending into apple peel and nutmeg, and Laura made victory arms because why the fuck not. He was going to say yes.

"Don't you think it's weird you're suggesting I be your boyfriend for Halloween?" he tried, but they both knew it was as good as done.

Besides, she had a secret weapon. "Just think about what _your_ boyfriend's going to think, when we meet him downtown."

And there it was. The peaty-mossy-dark-spice that was her brother thinking about Stiles, and the slightly unfocused look they'd been seeing since Friday.

She kinda hated her brother sometimes, lately. But she was happy for him too.

\-----

The doofus actually does the tattoo.

Not for real, but he has access to the stencil-things they use at the parlor, so he draws the armband and makes the damn stencil and bullies Laura into helping apply it. Because it's hard to do things like that to your own upper arm, and Derek doesn't think about details like that sometimes.

So it's a little crooked. It gives it character! And it's not like he's going to keep it forever, so who cares?

Aside from Derek.

\-----

Laura helped everybody. She was a helper.

She darkened the skin around Matt's eyes, so he'd be appropriately Dark-Knight-esque. She painted Gwen's face in blue and lighter blue and fuck, why hadn't she realized Stitch's face was complicated? She painted Jacob's face purple, because apparently Martians were purple. (She liked Jacob's the best. It was all one color, and when she slipped and jabbed him almost in the eye he just huffed at her instead of possibly needing a doctor.)

Laura helped Stacia by wrangling her into some thermal underwear for under her costume. Because cold, and human, and that fabric was really, really thin.

Seriously though. Stacia was the most adorable Lilo to ever Lilo, except the original. Laura didn't even know you could take the curl out of hair like Stacia's, but Niq is the unparalleled genius of beauty products in the house, not Laura. This was why.

(Whatever. Laura was the unparalleled at removing grease stains, car maintenance, and eggs. Niq could have beauty products and their uses. In fact...)

"You'll be the most pasty white fake Hawaiians in the city," Niq promised when Laura asked about spray tan. "But you'll be happier that way."

(Niq might have been more of a helper. She kept Laura's hair from fluffing out everywhere and even got Derek's hair to lay down mostly flat on a center part that Laura was going to stop teasing him with in about never.)

\-----

"Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts," Laura crows (quietly. they're in public, after all) when Derek's eyes widen and he freezes to keep from turning around at whatever he's getting off Stiles. (heh.)

He looks like he's about thirty seconds from hiding under his towel. More than he was already, at least.

(Though that was probably as much to do with hiding from the not-Stiles staring as it was to do with acting appropriate for a human wearing beach wear in late fall. But if David and Nani didn't wear thermal layers, then neither did Derek and Laura. No matter how much of a pain it was, trying to pretend to shiver.)

(Lilo didn't either, but Stacia's thermals were hidden and Stacia would _actually shiver_ and that would be the worst, so whatever.)

But then there was Stiles, in some sort of weird all-black thing that. Just. What? (It was obviously a _thing_ , there was no doubting that, but _what thing was it_? She had no idea. Costume fail!)

The point was. There was Stiles! Mostly stopped on the sidewalk, mouth gaping, eyes glazed. (Laura was sensing a theme.)

In short, Laura was totally right _and_ the best sister ever.

"Hey, Batman," she bumps her hip against Matt and grins, jerking her head toward Stiles. "Citizen in distress."

Matt's a good kid, and he'd make a rockin' super hero, so he scampers off to fetch Stiles and Laura can _see_ the moment Derek realizes he's going to be walking around with his mate looking at him like _that_ , (and smelling like that, and probably _feeling_ like that) with three six-to-seven year olds still working on the concept of 'appropriate'.

She takes a picture. Because she has the best ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't obvious, Laura decided to continue Gwen and Stacia's _Lilo and Stitch_ theme and go as [Nani](http://ever-lark.tumblr.com/post/5089380125) and [David](http://www.animatedheroes.com/david) (David gets a page, because it's hard finding good screen caps of him).
> 
> Stiles' actual costume is going to remain a surprise for a bit longer. You'll survive.
> 
> Don't recognize Robbie, from the beginning of this segment? You didn't miss anything! Robbie's a friend of Laura's that Derek doesn't have much to do with, and she hasn't actually come up before by name.


End file.
